Morning was heralded by female guards marching in the aisles and examining the slaves through the bars. There was also a slave with a trolley of sort, and bowls. He dished out a bowl to each man through an opening in the cell doors. Chakotay was on his feet within five seconds of waking up, and nearly came down again with the sudden yank of the shackles around his ankles. There was the distinct sounds of whips cracking and he looked across at Paris who had also snapped awake, but rubbing his eyes blearily, and looking at the bowl in front of him.

Chakotay noted the clothing the others wore: a simple shirt and pants that ended at the knee. He glanced down at his loincloth flaps and assumed they would be changed sooner or later.

He stared at breakfast if one could call it that. The musth looked gross, and tasted even worse. But a slave nearby, seeing his expression, whispered, "It's very nutritious. Eat it or it'll be grabbed from you."

They found out they were not given much time to eat, as another slave came fairly quickly to collect each bowl, then when he had gone, the doors sprang open automatically. Paris looked suspicious, but now saw every slave jump out as quickly as the doors opened. There was a faint sound of whips cracking, and one man paused long enough to say, "Get out, or they'll beat you."

The two officers needed no more warning than that. Chakotay joined the crowd of men, and jumped in surprise as the man next to him grunted from getting a lash cracking down on him. They marched down to an open area, where they were made to strip, shower, and then sit to get shaved. It was done very quickly, and Tom had given a wary eye to his woman handling that blade so fast. But she seemed very practiced at this and he felt like he had just sat down when it was time to get up again. Now Chakotay and Tom both got the proper clothing, for which they were glad for. They felt far less… exposed… with the new "uniform".

After that, the slaves formed two lines at the far door. There was a woman with an electronic scanner that told her the name and number of each slave and she would tersely tell him where he was working that day. Tom noted that he mostly heard, "Field", or the other one would be "Miranda". Whoever Miranda was.

When it was his turn, the woman looked up at him and then waved another guard over. "Training." She said the same thing for Chakotay and the two were lead away to another room.

Here they were forced to kneel, and silver collars were attached to their necks. The chains were removed, but replaced with better shackles. The next few hours were filled with humiliation. The officers were made to learn how to be led with the leash, how to kneel at the side of the woman holding said leash. They were forced to strip down and then wear a harness. And most of all, to obey promptly. If they did not, they were quickly punched, kicked, or hit with a cane. They worked for several hours with few rests, but they knew better than to complain right now. The quicker they learned how things worked around here, the better off they'd be.

After seeing that the men seemed to have the basics down, the guards led them to the fields. Here they were passed off to overseers, who had them go through the strange looking crop and harvest the odd looking seeds that hung like beans, but not quite. Chakotay gave a glance to Paris but shrugged and bent to his work. He watched the others while he worked and noted the overseers held whips in their hands. If they thought someone was slow, or not doing his work, or caught talking, a blow came slashing down on the man's back. The day was long and hot, with the twin suns blazing down on them. When one sun had slid down below the horizon, the work day was over.

The slaves silently walked back to their buildings and the Voyager men followed along. They were exhausted, but had managed to not get beaten. They had got their meals and scarfed the stuff down before going back to collapse in the back of their cells. The guards walked up and down, making sure each place was locked. And the Phantom came.

She walked down the aisle, peering in at each slave, who warily looked back. They froze to their spots, knowing exactly what she wanted. Chakotay met those cold grey eyes, and he shivered lightly unconsciously. She considered him, running her eyes over his frame before deciding to move on. She chose the man next to him, and purred at him as she led him away.

There was silence until after the guards had left. "Poor Tyson," someone said. "He's gonna get it bad. Hopefully not for long."

Another snorted and sarcastically replied, "You wish. You know how she is. He'll get whipped tomorrow for not being able to do his work."

Tom leaned into the bars and saw the speaker near him. "What is she doing to him?" he ventured.

There was scoffs and whispered comments before the blonde man diagonal from him answered, "You're new, aren't you. He's gone to… service her. And before you think that sounds awesome… it's the worst thing in the world." He paused, then quietly explained, "The women have a… serum. It makes you hard for them so they can have sex with you, but in no way can you get off. And not only that… it makes it... excruciatingly painful."

Blinking at that piece of information, Tom sighed and asked, "Why would they do such a thing?"

Someone next to him that he couldn't see snapped harshly, "Because they can." A pause then a softer tone, "Sorry. But no. Slaves are allowed no pleasure. They don't want to worry about unwanted pregnancies. But still use the hell out of us. It's been around for a very long time."

Chakotay observed the brown haired man next to Paris. His eyes held so much pain in them that the Commander wanted to just help him. But he was helpless to do that. The man continued, "She likes making us scream. Beg. Thrash about. We… are nothing but scum to her. But she was raised like that. Her and her mother, and her mother's mother. On before that."

Not much was said after that. It was the middle of the night, long after both suns had sunk down, when the man returned. Paris was awake when he saw the slave stagger into his cell, groaning with pain. He sat, leaning against the wall, legs splayed uncomfortably, and moaned again, squeezing his eyes shut. A stab of fear went through Paris. The man had been raped. That much was clear. It didn't matter if they were slaves or not. That's exactly what was going on. And the next thing that was clear was how much he and Chakotay had to get out of here. Or it might be them next.

The next day, they got their assignments as "Miranda". Puzzled, they followed one of the other "Miranda" men, who gestured to them to come with him. This was the brown haired man from last night that was next to Tom Paris. He nodded and brusquely said, "I'm Mitch. Come on."

They went outside as a group and went down a well worn path to a clearing. Chakotay and Paris shared a look, as it looked like a starship graveyard. And the biggest one was ahead.

The Miranda.

She had been stripped of much of her sheet metal, but the barebones were still there. As Mitch led them to the entrance that had been created, he paused to let the guard sign him in. He was quickly told "Bridge". The others were told the same, so they followed Mitch up to Miranda's bridge. Here they saw it had been stripped down and there were wires everywhere and piles of what was now junk. Looking to the brown haired slave for an explanation, Chakotay asked a silent question after glancing at the two guards and the four other slaves working there already.

Mitch sighed then told the Voyager men, "This is… or was… the Miranda. As you can tell, she was a Federation Starship."

Here Paris interrupted, "Wait… I've heard of you. The Miranda disappeared a few years before we got lost."

Nodding, Mitch continued, "Yeah. And somehow ended up here. The Captain… Captain Farley, he made a brave stand against the Phantom, who came after him. He… died… in the struggle for mastery. Or she beat him to death. That's the short story." Here Mitch gestured around him, "And now the Miranda crew get to take the ship apart to reuse for other things."

Chakotay seemed to a have an aha moment and shook his head, "Wait, so that's why the ship we were on looked like it was made from a mishmash of parts! Because it was. And… hold on. The crew is still here?" He looked at the other men that all had silver collars and were steadily working away at various stations and cannibalizing them.

Glancing at them too, Mitch said in a soft voice, "Yes. All the men you see here are Miranda men. Including me."

"Y..you're one of the crew?" Tom asked after picking up his jaw off the floor. "You… oh man."

"Yeah, I am. I was once her first mate. So… yeah. I get it hard at times, being the next in command. And I couldn't stop them from killing the captain," he said with pain in his voice. "I told him to give in! But he wouldn't. And now…" his breath hitched and he looked away.

Chakotay might have said something but one of the guard stepped towards them, displaying her whip. She glared at them all and sharply said, "If you boys are all through gabbing, you might as well start working. You understand what to do?" This last part was directed at the two new slaves, and she narrowed her eyes at them.

"Uh, yes, ma'am," Chakotay quickly replied to make sure that they didn't get into trouble. Mitch shot him a look and added, "Yeah, I was about to send them off." He strode away and pointed at two stations. "Just go ahead and take them apart. The pile over there, you put usable components they could put in another ship. The other pile is for recyclables. Stuff that isn't reusable. Got it?"

Nodding, the two men bent to their work. They soon found out that after that, talking was no longer permitted. They were to look to their own things, and not help each other. Even looking at one another got them a sharp word and a threat of a lashing. Once in a while, a guard would decide that a slave wasn't working hard enough, and would come up and give him a vicious stroke. They didn't touch the new slaves today, but Chakotay did look up when she paced behind him. He couldn't see what Mitch had done but he got two hard strokes and took them without complaint.

Lunch break wasn't really lunch. They got to rest, drink water, use the facilities if needed, then were back at it quickly. Chakotay felt exhausted by the time they went back to their cells and dropped down, glad to be off his feet.

The next few days went like that. If they weren't in Miranda, they were in the fields. Both was backbreaking work. They soon learned to keep their heads down and be silent. Mitch was often assigned to "House" or even "Cassandra", but he wouldn't talk about either thing. They just knew he looked worn and beaten, often walking oddly if they did happen to catch a glimpse of the former first mate.

One day, it happened. Chakotay was in Miranda, sorting out the useable wires from the ones that were completely blown. He was standing between the two piles, with his own little pile at his feet, picking up a wire, examining it, then tossing it in the correct containers. There was a slight stir, but he knew enough by now to not be distracted. Then a familiar voice… Cassandra's… echoed through the halls. Then she was in the room, inspecting the slaves. Now a hand was on Chakotay's back as he heard, "This one is fine looking, isn't he? Have you had to lay into him yet?"

"No, ma'am. He's still unmarked. He's been a pretty good boy," the guard assured the Phantom. She chuckled and told him, "Stop a moment. Shirt off."

Chakotay caught Paris' wary glance from the other side of the room, but did drop what he was holding and removed his shirt. He looked curiously at Cassandra as he held the shirt in one hand.

Grey eyes blinked at him, then she smiled as she ran her hand over his chest in appreciation. "Nice. Very nice." She trailed that hand over to his back and commented, "Wow. So clean. Unmarred. Beautiful. But I like it marked better, of course. It is the mark of a true slave." She came around to his front and lifted Chakotay's chin to see his face better. "I rather like that mark on him. It suits him well." She pursed her lips in decision, then nodded with a cold smile, "Yes, I'd like him tomorrow. He will learn his place here. And he will entertain me very well."

"No." The word rang out and made the women turn around in surprise. Every slave froze except one: Tom. Tom whose eyes were blazing in anger. "No. You will not touch him."

"Tom…" Chakotay tried to shut the man up with a warning word. But Cassandra had already locked eyes with Paris. She looked very displeased with this boldness against her. "You. You're his team mate, yes? You will never interfere with what I do. And you will never say no." This last bit was said in a low and dangerous tone.

Two guards had grabbed Tom by the arms, and he bucked against them for one moment before deciding to give up and behave. He would get punished, sure. As long as she didn't touch Chakotay like that. It wasn't right! A matched stare at those grey eyes before she nodded to the guards.

Chakotay could not keep silence, "Wait! What are they doing? Where are they taking him?"

Cassandra laughed and patted Chakotay's cheek, "He'll be punished. You get back to work. You'll see him later tonight. Now, get." She commanded, waited until she was satisfied that he was working again, then left to deal with the wayward slave.

Paris had found himself dragged to two posts outside. He had wondered every day what they were for. Now it seemed he would find out. He was stripped of his shirt and chained up by the wrists between the posts. He glanced over to the guard on his left and saw her fingering a mean looking whip. Now Tom knew. He'd be whipped. He gritted his teeth and braced himself as best he could for the pain to begin. Shutting his eyes tight, he made himself think of better times. Times on Voyager. Piloting the Flyer. Seeing fantastic things. The Voyager crew. Even the Doctor would be...

CRACK! The first lash burned a line of fire on his back and Tom arched into it. Then another line crossed the other way. The pain built with every lash, until Tom had no choice but to yell. He could feel the blood trickling down his back and his wrists burn with all the jerking he'd been doing. He hoped it would be over soon. Ten lashes so fa- his thoughts were cut off again as another line of pain burned its way into him. Bloody hell, that had hurt more than the last one. There was one more vicious stroke, the worst of them all, and then Tom was let down at last. He couldn't help screaming in pain as he hit the ground. Paris panted for a good while, trying to get a handle of the pain that scored his bloody back. He just wanted to lie here and curl up.

He knew it wouldn't happen though. Hands yanked him up and shoved him in another direction quite roughly. Tom continued to pant for the pain but went where he was told blindly. Pushed into a white room, he saw a man wearing a long white coat come and inspect him, clean him up quickly, bandage him, then nod to the women. Tom now found himself back in his cell for a few hours. He couldn't rest. He hurt far too much. Then he was kicked up in the second half of the day and forced to work in the fields, trying not to cry as he felt the lacerations on his back open every time he bent over.

It was in pure exhaustion that he fell down in his cell for the night. Dimly, he could hear Chakotay calling him from the other side, "Tom? Tom! What the hell have they done to you? Tom! Hang in there, Tom." Then Chakotay's voice faded out as the darkness took over him.